The boy walked alongside her, hand still entwined in hers, feeling an unfamiliar mixture of calm and nervous energy. The school grounds were alive with the bustle of the first day—students greeting each other, lockers slamming, teachers calling names—but all of it seemed muted, as if the world had shifted slightly to accommodate the space between him and the girl.
"Do we… go to class now?" he asked cautiously, glancing at her.
"Yes," she replied. "But we don't have to rush. I want you to feel ready."
"I… think I am," he said, though his chest still pounded, and his mind buzzed with fragments of memories he couldn't yet place. Eight years of waiting, eight years of wondering, and now the pieces were beginning to stir—but unevenly, like waves lapping against a shore he hadn't fully explored.
She guided him to their first classroom, a bright, sunlit space filled with students laughing and settling into their seats. The boy's childhood friend waved at him from across the room, clearly bewildered.
"Bro!" his friend whispered as he slid into the desk next to him. "What the hell is happening? You're… holding hands like a couple already?!"
The boy ignored him, his attention locked on the girl as she chose a seat near the window. He noticed the way the sunlight hit her hair, the soft curve of her shoulders, and a strange sense of déjà vu prickled his skin. It wasn't just admiration or attraction—it was recognition. Something far deeper than any normal high school crush.
She caught his gaze and gave a small, knowing smile, as if reading the thoughts he wasn't even sure he had. His chest tightened again.
*It's the same feeling I had under the tree,* he thought. *The one I couldn't name… the one I've been chasing all these years.*
---
The teacher arrived shortly after, and the class began, but the boy's attention drifted. He could hear the words, understand the math problems, follow the lecture—but part of him was elsewhere, orbiting the presence of the girl beside him. Every glance she cast in his direction made his heart skip a beat.
At one point, the girl leaned slightly toward him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you feel it?"
"Feel what?" he asked, startled, leaning closer to catch her words.
"That… connection. Between us. Even here, even now."
He nodded, swallowing hard. "I do. I can't explain it, but… it's like my heart remembers more than my mind."
She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against his under the desk. "Good. That means it's starting to come back."
"Start to…?" he muttered. His chest tightened further.
"Your memories," she said softly. "Fragments of them. They'll return. Slowly. But even small pieces will remind you of who we were—who we are."
His mind flinched at that thought. *Who we were…?* He could feel the edges of memories surfacing—flashes of light beneath the tree, a voice whispering his name, hands clasped together, laughter that felt impossibly familiar—but whenever he tried to grasp them, they dissolved into mist.
"I don't know if I'm ready," he admitted quietly, almost to himself. "What if I remember too much? What if it hurts?"
She reached out and touched his arm lightly. "You're stronger than you think. Whatever you remember, I'll be here. We'll face it together."
The warmth of her touch made his pulse race, and for a moment, he felt the overwhelming desire to simply lean into her, to let the rest of the world fade away. Instead, he clenched his fists in his lap and tried to focus on the lesson.
---
Later, during a short break between classes, the boy and the girl walked to the school courtyard, where sunlight poured over the benches and the cherry blossom trees cast delicate shadows on the ground.
"Do you ever feel… like we've done this before?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Every day," she said. "Even when I wasn't here, I felt it. Even when I couldn't reach you, I knew we were connected."
"I feel the same," he admitted. "It's strange… because I can't remember everything, but I can feel it. I can feel you. And it scares me how real it feels."
"Good," she said. "It should feel real. Because it is."
They sat side by side on a bench, the boy's hand brushing against hers. He could sense the faint heartbeat through her palm, rhythmic and steady, grounding him. "I want to remember," he said quietly. "I want to understand… all of it. Everything."
"And you will," she promised. "But not all at once. Memories are dangerous when they return too quickly. They can overwhelm you. That's why we have to go slowly. Step by step."
"Step by step," he repeated, smiling faintly. "Like we did under the tree."
"Exactly," she said. "Under the tree, we learned to trust each other, even as children. That trust has never left us. Even when the world separated us, even when time itself pulled us apart, we always remembered it in our hearts."
He nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "I don't know how you do it… how you stay so calm, so sure."
"I'm not always calm," she admitted. "But I know you. I know us. That's enough to keep me steady. You'll find that too—once the memories come back."
---
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of lectures and small exchanges between them. The boy found himself stealing glances at her, every interaction, every shared smile or brush of fingers, stirring something inside him he couldn't name. Every laugh they shared made the world feel lighter, yet heavier at the same time, as if some unseen weight of the past pressed against the present.
During lunch, they found a quiet corner of the cafeteria, away from the chatter of other students.
"I feel like we should talk about it," he said, staring down at their intertwined hands. "About… everything. About who we are, why we're connected. I can't ignore it."
She nodded. "I know. But some answers will have to wait. Right now, the important thing is to stay together, to remember slowly. You're ready for pieces, not the whole truth."
"I want the whole truth," he said softly. "I want to remember it all. Even the parts that scare me."
"Then you'll get there," she said. "But it will come when the time is right. And when it does, we'll face it together. I promise."
He looked up at her, searching her eyes for reassurance. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."
"You won't have to find out," she replied gently. "I'm not going anywhere."
---
The afternoon classes came and went. Every lesson felt both ordinary and surreal, as though the normal rhythms of school life existed alongside something far deeper and older. Between classes, the boy and the girl would exchange small glances, slight touches, words barely above a whisper, each moment layered with meaning he couldn't yet articulate.
By the time the final bell rang, signaling the end of the first day, the boy felt exhausted—not from the schoolwork, but from the emotional intensity of being near her. Every glance, every brush of hands, every smile had been a jolt to his memory, teasing fragments of past lives, teasing the truth he had longed to know.
As they walked toward the school gates together, he finally asked the question that had been pressing against his chest all day.
"Do you… remember all of it?"
"Not yet," she said softly. "Some things are too dangerous to remember too quickly. But I remember enough to know we belong together. That's the important part."
He nodded, swallowing hard. "I think I understand. Maybe… maybe I already was yours."
"Yes," she said, her smile gentle and knowing. "You always were."
They paused at the gate, watching as other students streamed out into the afternoon sunlight. He felt a sense of belonging he had never known, a tether to something far larger than himself.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.
"Yes," he whispered. "Tomorrow. And every day after."
She squeezed his hand one last time before releasing it, and he watched her walk ahead, feeling the tug of destiny, the weight of memory, and the thrill of knowing that the story that began beneath the great tree was far from over.
The boy walked home slowly, replaying every word, every touch, every glance. He felt as if he had crossed a threshold, as if the past and present had intertwined, weaving something new from the threads of lives long gone. And he knew, with a certainty that felt both strange and familiar, that the girl waiting for him was only the beginning of a story that had spanned lifetimes—and that they would face it together.
---